


Stranded In A Dream

by FullOnLarrie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Vegas, Bad Decisions, Dancer Louis, Excessive Drinking, Las Vegas, Las Vegas Wedding, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 09:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10806741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FullOnLarrie/pseuds/FullOnLarrie
Summary: Harry leaves everything behind for a job in Vegas which doesn't quite work out as planned. Feeling down on his luck, he meets Louis, a dancer for Britney Spears, who's determined to help Harry turn things around. They may or may not end up married.





	Stranded In A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> The biggest thanks to my beta [Nic](http://louandhazaf.tumblr.com)❤ 
> 
> I was tossing around ideas with [Amanda](http://alarrylarrie.tumblr.com/), trying to encourage her to write a Vegas fic, when this idea sprung out of my head. So as a thank you, I named a character after her ❤ 
> 
> I just have to say that I was not planning to write a Vegas fic until someone said I couldn't, so thanks for that.  
> I hope you guys enjoy it!
> 
>  
> 
> **If you’d like to translate any of my fics, feel free, but please post the translation on ao3, and send me a link so that I can include it in the author’s notes.**
> 
> **Please do not post this fic or any of my other fics on any other websites.**

●●●

“Here’s your key and your parking permit. Display it in your window or they’ll tow you. Weekly rent due every…” The elderly lady behind the dirty glass window pauses to take a drag off her cigarette and squints at the calendar hanging on the wall. That month's picture is of Red Rock Canyon and Harry makes a mental note to go out there as soon as he can afford the gas. “Today’s Tuesday. Rent’s due Tuesdays then. Don't crank the AC. Seventy-five is as low as it'll go before it freezes up.”

Harry nods and thanks her, then walks back outside into the desert heat. He hangs the parking permit from the rearview mirror of his truck, and grabs his bags and his bike from the truck bed. It's hot as fuck. Hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock. He laughs to himself at the list of fairly vulgar “hotter thans” his sister had recited when he told her he was moving to Vegas. 

The motel room is shitty, but it’s what he can afford for the time being. At least it has air conditioning and the bathroom isn’t _that_ disgusting. Nothing a little bleach can't handle. Before he does anything else, he pulls the blanket and sheets off the bed to check for bedbugs. Thank you, Google, for over five million results when he searched “how to check for bedbugs” and thank you, Mom, for the idea to Google it in the first place. The room seems to be clear of pests, at least of that nature. 

Harry has his bike, one suitcase, one backpack, and his laptop bag. It doesn't take him long to unpack his things, and his clothes don't even take up half of the small dresser. Everything else he owned he'd sold or left behind when he decided to move out to Vegas. 

For a few years now, he’s done lights for concerts and stuff, starting with little gigs in bars, then working his way up to smaller venues and theaters. He applied for and was hired on a probationary basis at The AXIS at Planet Hollywood as an assistant lighting tech for his Queen, Ms. Britney Spears. It’s the most exciting thing to happen to him in years—possibly ever—and Harry wishes he could start right now. 

The motel Harry’s staying in is nowhere near the strip where he’ll be working. His bike is shittier than his truck, but less expensive to keep running, so he’s going to have to rely on it to get to work and back, at least until he’s worked through the probationary period and moved into a regular apartment. 

New employee orientation is the next afternoon and Harry decides to leave early so that he can find the best place to lock up his bike while he works at night, and then sit in the lobby so the AC can dry the sweat that’s going to soak through his shirt before he’s halfway there. Once he’s parked and locked his bike, Harry has about thirty minutes until he’s due inside the theater. He spends twenty of it walking around the Planet Hollywood Casino, torn between wishing he’d brought money with him and being glad he didn’t. 

“Thanks for coming out here on short notice, Mr. Styles.” Harry’s new boss, Mr. Smith, firmly shakes his hand and he wonders briefly if that’s even his real name. “Have a seat.”

Harry sits in the visitor’s chair and waits while Mr. Smith goes over his paperwork. 

“You have enough experience in similar sized venues that we’re not too worried about your abilities. And your references were excellent.” Mr. Smith shuffles through the paperwork and hums to himself before continuing, “Your probationary period is two weeks. After that, if you’re up to snuff, you’ll be bumped up to a salaried position. Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry responds immediately. He needs the salaried position to be able to afford to stay in Vegas.

Mr. Smith straightens the stack of Harry’s paperwork and slides it inside a manilla folder, then hands him another folder. “Of course, Ms. Spears is our current show, and you’ll find the lighting cues listed there. We then rotate to the other residencies. Typically, you’ll have plenty of time with rehearsal to go over the lighting plans.” Mr. Smith peeks back inside the folder at Harry’s resume. “You have experience planning lighting schemes, albeit at a smaller scale. It’s possible you’ll be able to help with that at our other theater, PH.” 

Harry was not expecting that, since this is just supposed to be an entry level job to get his feet wet. He can hear the surprise in his own voice when he says, “Oh, well, yes. Thank you.”

“Right, well,” Mr. Smith says as he stands up behind his desk. “Your direct supervisor should be here,” he pauses to check his, wow, super sparkly watch. “Now, actually. I’ll walk you out to meet her.”

Amanda, head lighting tech and Harry’s immediate supervisor, looks him up and down and Harry feels like he’s being weighed and measured. There are no nonsense questions, there's no getting to know you conversation. She simply takes him on a tour of the theater, including backstage, then up to the lighting rigs. 

They’re nothing weird or special or different than any other lights he’s worked with before, so he breathes a sigh of relief; this job is going to be easier than he’s been expecting. Yes, of course, Britney Spears is the main act. Yes, of course, he still has a poster of her hanging on the back of his bedroom door in his childhood bedroom. Yes, of course, he’s nervous as fuck that he’ll trip and fall the first time he sees her in person. But he’s always professional. Mostly.

After running through the lighting cues with him and double checking that Mr. Smith gave Harry the correct information in his folder, Amanda dismisses him with a curt nod. “Six o’clock Friday for the rehearsal run-through.” 

●●●

Thirty minutes before he’s due on Friday, Harry locks up his bike and pulls his sweaty hair up into a bun. After cooling off, Harry heads for the employee lounge where he clocks in. Uniform requirements are simply all black clothing, and Harry is incredibly thankful that he owns more plain black t-shirts than anything else. Those shirts along with his black boots and three pairs of black skinny jeans mean he won’t have to spend any money on clothes. He’s been assigned a locker for storing his personal items during work hours and told that under no circumstances are employee cell phones allowed in the theater. In the employee restroom, Harry splashes some water on his face, quickly changes out of his sneakers, worn basketball shorts and old, ripped KISS t-shirt, swipes on an extra layer of deodorant, shoves everything into his backpack, and pockets his keys. After he secures his bag in his locker, he goes looking for Amanda. Time to work.

The run-through for the Friday night show starts promptly at five minutes before seven o’clock. In the thirty minutes prior to that, Harry follows Amanda around. She’s not very talkative, but she does lead him through the backstage area, noting things like costumes that tend to be reflective or pointing out certain dancers who have solos or who dance one-on-one with Britney. Ms. Spears, as they all seem to call her. Harry smiles and nods and says, “Yes, ma’am,” when it’s called for, but otherwise he’s quiet. 

As they're just about to leave the backstage area to go up to the lighting booth, a line of dancers comes out of one of the dressing rooms, so Amanda and Harry have to step back and stand against the wall to let them pass. There are almost a dozen of them—men and women—dressed in black lace and leather. All of the dancers are gorgeous, with amazingly detailed makeup and absolutely killer bodies. Harry watches them walk by with his eyes wide open and mouth tightly shut. Amanda doesn’t introduce him to any of them, and he doesn’t know what to do other than stand there silently staring.

As the last dancer walks past, pulling on the shoulder of the girl in front of him and whispering in her ear, Harry is temporarily dumbfounded. While all of the dancers are lovely, this man is beyond beautiful. Striking blue eyes, surrounded by insanely long eyelashes that Harry thinks have to be fake, brown hair styled to look rumpled and messy, a fucking stunning face, which the glittery stage makeup only enhances, and smooth, tan skin that Harry suddenly feels like he can see way too much of. The dancer catches him looking and smirks. As he walks away, Harry’s gaze follows, and he’s almost positive that the man swings his hips and wiggles his perfect ass a little more than necessary.

“Close your mouth, Styles,” Amanda barks. “Let’s go.”

Harry blushes as he turns to follow her and realizes she’s already a good twenty feet down the corridor, which means she had to raise her voice to be heard. The heat in his cheeks continues to rise as he climbs the stairs to the lighting booth.

The show is eighty minutes long with multiple costume changes and different lighting schemes for each song. It’s complicated, but nothing that Harry can't handle, especially as an assistant. About halfway through the dress rehearsal, Amanda must decide that Harry’s doing a fine job, because she passes him her headset and iPad, tells him to follow the timing cues on the screen, and leaves. 

It all goes smoothly. Harry does everything perfectly, and he isn’t even flustered by the onstage presence of Her Majesty, Queen Britney. 

According to the setlist, there are two songs left: “(You Drive Me) Crazy” and “Till the World Ends” and Harry’s been bopping along almost nonstop, but especially through “Toxic” and “Stronger.” Somehow, in all of his planning and stressing about this job, he’d managed to forget that he’d be listening to the music for an hour and a half three nights a week. He loves it. 

Harry switches to the blue lights for the end of “Crazy,” and when he does, Harry sees him. The male dancers are all shirtless and wearing low-rise multi-colored leggings. When that one, the one that Harry practically drooled on backstage, spins around with his back to the empty auditorium, and bends over with his perfect ass in the air, Harry forgets what he’s supposed to be doing. The blue lights are still on and Harry’s still staring when Amanda comes rushing into the room, snatches the iPad from his hand and fixes the lights.

She checks the screen and the cues and says, “It’s alright because it’s rehearsal, and you won’t be left alone up here during the show, but you have to stay focused. Ms. Spears is always lit. Always. You had the spotlight on one of the backup dancers.”

Harry apologizes and swears he’ll do better. It was a simple mistake and he got overwhelmed. Amanda nods and they finish the rehearsal without incident. The entire show goes off without a hitch that night, and other than Harry’s inability to tear his eyes away from Mr. Perfect Bum (as Harry has decided to call him) when he’s in view, Harry stays focused and does that job well. 

On his bike ride back to the motel, Harry can’t stop thinking about Mr. Perfect Bum. Once he’d recognized him on stage, he couldn’t stop looking for him. It’s like Harry’s eyes are magnets and that amazing bum is some sort of extra-magnetic metal. It's strange. He definitely feels weird about it. 

In reality, he's just some dude. To be fair, he’s the hottest thing Harry’s ever seen, but also he’s just some dancer guy who Harry doesn’t know at all, doesn’t even know his name, and he probably wouldn’t even speak to Harry in a social setting. As if they’d even run in the same circles. He’s dancing on stage with the Queen. Harry’s a lighting tech. 

Harry sighs as he carries his bike into his motel room. 

●●●

The first week on the job goes smoothly. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he’s not sure, Harry hasn’t seen Mr. Perfect Bum again since that first night. No distractions mean that Harry doesn’t make anymore mistakes and he’s already learning the cues by heart. It’s his second Sunday, which means that after tonight’s show, he’s got one more shift before he’s no longer a probationary employee. Hopefully he’s made a good enough impression that they’ll decide to keep him on. Then he can start saving and looking for an actual apartment.

He drops his phone and sunglasses into his locker and jogs up the stairs to get ready for the run-through.

Harry is so completely focused during rehearsal that he almost doesn’t hear Amanda when she says she’s running downstairs to smoke. She doesn’t reappear until the last song. Once the run-through is over, Harry goes downstairs to get a bottle of water and use the restroom. 

It’s become somewhat normal for him to freeze in place or throw himself against the nearest wall when a parade of dancers comes down the hallway. He always looks for Mr. Perfect Bum, but he’s never there, must have quit or gotten fired for some reason, and Harry is a little sad about it, but overall it’s probably for the best. It makes his job a hell of a lot easier.

On his way back toward the stairs, Harry gets stuck against the wall again. It’s the same line of dancers from his very first day, when he toured the theater with Amanda. Harry closes his eyes and smiles at the memory, he’s enjoyed the vision of that gorgeous bum swaying as Mr. Perfect Bum walked away in pretty much every masturbatory fantasy he’s had since that day. As the last footsteps pass him by, Harry opens his eyes and glances at the dancers. Shit. Yes, he’s only seen it this close once, but he’d know it anywhere. Mr. Perfect Bum is back at work. 

Harry runs up the stairs to the lighting booth, finds a clear space on the floor, drops to the carpet and lies down to try to relax. It’s just an ass, he scolds himself. But his rebellious brain supplies the rest: the memory of a sharp jawline, sparkling blue eyes, amazing legs, thighs to die for, and yes an ass. _The_ ass, as far as Harry’s penis is concerned. He groans and climbs to his feet. Focus. 

His maintains his focus for most of the show and Harry is incredibly proud of himself. The lights have gone perfectly, no mistakes at all, and he’s pretty sure that Amanda smiled at him. Maybe. 

“Toxic” begins and the smoke machines start up and Harry’s mouth drops open when the usual male dancer that starts that segment of the show isn’t there. Instead, it’s Mr. Perfect Bum and Harry’s heart starts beating like a drum inside his chest. He can’t fuck it up. After a deep breath, he feels a bit better. He knows the cues, knows the job. It’s fine. He’s fine. Fine. He’s not fine. 

The opening to “Toxic” is a single male dancer in the spotlight. At the run-through it went off without a hitch. Harry must have been focused on the music or the iPad, because he managed to miss seeing who was dancing lead. As Mr. Perfect Bum leaps and spins around the stage, the light follows him, and that’s absolutely no problem for Harry at all. It’s just that eventually, that spot is supposed to shut off and more dancers are meant to appear with the green lights. The green lights that Harry has completely forgotten about because he’s still following Mr. Perfect Bum with the spot until he disappears at the edge of the stage. In fact, Harry can make out the confused look on his face when he turns to squint up at the lighting booth. That’s when Harry realizes he’s fucking it all up. 

Harry fixes it as fast as he possibly can. Spot off, green lights up, and it doesn’t seem like anyone in the audience has noticed, but when Harry turns around, he’s positive that Amanda noticed. She shakes her head and checks her iPad. Fuck. Harry has to buckle down, ignore that bum, and work. The rest of “Toxic” goes well, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief. 

When “Stronger” starts, the spot follows Britney up the stairs to the platform and Harry grins. He loves this song. But before he can relax into the music and follow the cues, Mr. Perfect Bum and another dancer appear right behind Britney. Shit. Focus. Harry’s eyes keep drifting slightly to the left, it’s like they have a mind of their own, and he can’t stop them. They drift, he corrects them and looks back where he’s supposed to, then they drift over again. It’s in the middle of one of these internal struggles with his eyeballs that Harry misses the next cue and Ms Spears has to descend the staircase in the dark. Harry’s still lighting that lovely ass and the star of the show is a good fifteen feet away. 

“Styles!” Amanda whisper shouts. “What the fuck are you doing? That’s twice tonight. Take a walk.” She takes his headset and iPad. 

Outside in the alley, the heavy door swings shut and Harry stops it from closing completely with his foot, then wedges the broken piece of brick in to hold it open. Harry squats down and rests his bum against the brick wall. Shit. He has to get it together. This job is a necessity. He can’t live here without it. 

Five years ago, Harry wouldn't have thought he’d be running lights for Britney Spears of all people. The lighting gig had started as something he did for a friend’s band one night and spiraled from there. If he’s honest with himself, it’s not exactly what he pictured himself doing as a career for the rest of his life, but he likes it. It's a job, and a good one if he can get the salaried position. 

Harry sighs and stands back up, then leans his head back against the wall. He pulls the door open, kicks the brick out of the way, and jogs back upstairs to apologize to Amanda.

Before Harry can say anything, Amanda stops him. “Listen, Styles. It’s fine. Just don’t do it again. If it happens one more time, you’re gone.”

Harry’s mouth drops open, but he quickly responds, “Yes, ma’am. I’m really sorry. Won’t happen again.”

“Good. You’re experienced and I’d like to keep you around. Now, go home and I’ll see you for the run-through on Wednesday.” Amanda nods and shoos him away.

●●●

Monday and Tuesday Harry spends talking to his sister who has a few more “hotter than” things to add to the list, trying to figure out what he can eat without access to a kitchen besides peanut butter and honey sandwiches and fruit, and searching Craigslist for potential future roommates and apartments. He’s just paid his third week of rent on the motel room and he really wants it to be his last week there. Craigslist is surprisingly lacking in reasonable “roommate wanted” ads. There are only a handful and of that handful, only two seem like a good fit for Harry. He doesn’t want to sleep in someone’s living room on their futon, and he doesn’t like the idea of a “converted master bedroom closet” as a bedroom. The best one isn’t even available for almost a month, but maybe he can handle the motel for a while longer if he ends up with his own bedroom and what looks like a decent kitchen from the pictures.

On Wednesday Harry bikes to work determined to be focused and do his best. 

The run-through goes exceptionally well. Mr. Perfect Bum is there, he’s on stage, and Harry is fine. He studiously ignores him and during “Stronger” he forces his eyes to stay on Britney. When he feels them stray, he closes them and trusts the musical cues to guide him. It works. The sense of relief is palpable and Harry almost wants to lie down on the floor and cry. 

The Wednesday show starts at nine o’clock sharp and Harry feels amazing. Amanda steps back and lets him run things and her trust in him means more than any words she could have said. It feels like Harry’s finally found his groove, he’s bopping along to the music and following the cues and everything is perfect. 

It all goes to shit during “Till the World Ends” when Britney is running around with her girls on stage. As they do every time, the male dancers come out in the back and everyone meets up in the middle. Harry’s focusing completely on the music, Britney, and his job. And then Mr. Perfect Bum is standing there, right next to Britney, back to the audience, shaking his ass to the beat and Harry loses it. He completely fucks up and sends the spot shooting up to the ceiling, overcorrects, and lights the empty front of the stage, and when he finally gets it back where it’s supposed to be, the song is over. 

Amanda takes the iPad from him and holds her hand out until he drops the headset into it, then purses her lips and says, “Well, the good news is your paycheck is downstairs. The bad news is it’s the only one you’ll get. Mr. Smith will be in touch. Leave your locker key in the front office when you pick up your check.”

Harry nods. It’s all he can do. 

The woman in the front office hands him his paycheck and accepts his locker key and Harry’s done. He wanders into the casino and walks around for a bit until he finds a place to cash his paycheck. If he’s leaving Vegas, he’s leaving empty handed. He’ll spend every dime of his paycheck to get drunk off his ass and he’ll gamble the rest of it away at the slots. Might as well make a night of it.

He’s on his third drink and on the way to feeling slightly better about his situation, or at least drunk enough not to care as much (thanks to alcohol on an empty stomach), when out of the corner of his eye he sees something. Harry’s head whips around so fast that he stumbles a bit when he hops off his stool and leaves his slot machine behind. 

As he passes a cocktail waitress, he chugs the rest of his drink, and sets his empty glass on her tray, without slowing down. Somehow he manages not to collide with anyone in his inebriated state, as he weaves in and out of the crowd, around the corner and towards the exit. He has to catch up. He has to see. He needs to know for sure.

“Hey!” He shouts as he barrels through the exit out onto the Strip and down the sidewalk. “Hey, Mr. Perfect Bum! Wait!” Then Harry realizes what he’s actually yelling and starts cackling. He’s still running, but now he's laughing and he knows he must look like a crazy person, but it’s Vegas and no one even bats an eye. His steps slow and his chest heaves; he can barely breathe for laughing. He finally stops running, bends over and drops his hands to his knees while he sucks in air between snorts and chuckles. His body is shaking and tears are falling from his eyes because he’s still cracking up. 

This is his life apparently. 

In less than a month, Harry’s gone from responsible adult with a steady full time job, to the type of person who drops everything to move by himself to Vegas for a new job, to getting fired from said brand new job, to drunkenly chasing the most beautiful boy he’s ever seen down the Las Vegas Strip. It’s absurd. And he can’t stop laughing.

“You alright?” A sweet, quiet voice asks.

Harry opens his eyes and sees his own boots and chuckles. “Yeah.” 

He looks forward a bit and sees a pair of green and white checkered Vans and bare ankles. Harry stands up so fast that he gets a headrush, and audibly gasps, with his hands on his cheeks and his eyes comically wide, like he's in a cartoon or something. 

It’s him.

“You sure?” 

Harry shakes his head. Because he’s not okay. Not really. Especially not now that he can see up close what he’s really only seen in glimpses of from a few feet away. “You… You’re… You…”

“Mmhmm. You said that already. Do you need an ambulance or something?” 

Harry stares at him, mouth moving without making noise, then he finally manages to make words. “You got me fired.” 

“What?” Mr. Perfect Bum screeches. “I did not. I don’t even know you.”

The alcohol coursing through Harry’s body gives him enough courage to go on. “You did. I just got fired from the lighting crew at _Piece of Me._ ”

“I don’t see how that’s my fault. I only saw you in the hallway a couple of times.” 

“Hey, can you… Do you think… Listen. I’m going to have to leave town now, or at least I will once I’m sober, but I’d like to buy you a drink. Can I?”

“I…” Mr. Perfect Bum starts. Then stops to turn around and say something to his friend who Harry hadn’t even noticed was standing there. “I’ll see you later. I’m just going to make sure he’s alright.” His friend laughs, but nods and walks away. 

Beautiful blue eyes and glitter. Remnants of stage makeup. And apparently those long lashes are real after all. He’s gorgeous, but much more human looking in regular street clothes—ripped black jean shorts and a loose, black Nirvana tank top. Harry takes it back. He’s still inhumanly gorgeous.

“Thanks, man. That’s one I haven’t heard before.” He puts a firm hand on Harry’s elbow and steers him back down the sidewalk and into the casino that Harry’s just chased him out of.

“What?” Harry tilts his head.

“Inhumanly gorgeous. I mean, you’re full of that sort of shit, aren’t you? Mr. Perfect Bum and inhumanly gorgeous. I’m Louis, by the way. It’s fewer syllables.” 

“I’m Harry.” Then, as Louis’ words register, Harry feels his eyes go wide and his voice squeaks when he asks, “You heard me?”

“Yeah, man. You were pretty loud.” Louis leads Harry over to the nearest cocktail waitress. She returns shortly thereafter with two beers. 

Harry’s standing there, holding his beer, and feeling like he needs to drop it and run. It’s not even midnight and he’s already halfway through his paycheck and now he’s made a giant idiot of himself in front of the prettiest person he’s ever seen.

Harry whispers, “I’m sorry,” and looks down at his beer glass. Maybe it’s all the running or maybe it’s the embarrassment, but he’s suddenly feeling much less intoxicated, and it’s harder to ignore his problems this way. “I’m really sorry. I’ll… I’ll go.” Harry holds out his beer in front of him like he wants to hand it off to someone, but Louis gently pushes it back toward Harry.

“You can’t go now. You offered to buy me a drink, and I don’t know if you noticed, but I bought this one.” Louis raises his eyebrows and puts the tips of his fingers under Harry’s beer glass and slowly lifts it until Harry catches on and raises it to his mouth to take a sip. “And you have to tell me why you think I cost you your job.”

Harry watches Louis over the top of his glass as he drinks his beer and doesn’t say anything. But Louis is still looking at him expectantly, so when Harry finishes his beer and hands it to a passing waitress, he says, “I was working the lights.”

Louis’ eyes go wide and he whistles low. “Oh. Yeah, I noticed there were some mistakes.” He stops and his eyebrows knit together. “How is that my fault?”

Harry sighs. “It’s not. Not really. I just… Every time I’d see you, I’d fuck up. And like, I thought I had it under control, but then tonight…” Harry’s voice trails off. He can’t tell Louis that his ass is the reason Harry got fired. It even sounds ridiculous inside his head, it’s going to sound worse out loud. Wait. “Why weren’t you here last week?”

“I flew home to visit my family.” Louis gestures for him to continue. “Tonight…” 

Harry shakes his head and turns to walk toward the bar. He needs tequila. Liquid courage. When he turns around with two shot glasses in one hand and two margaritas in the other, Louis is standing right behind him. Louis takes the offered shot glass, waves down the bartender to ask for a few limes, and leads Harry to the end of the bar. 

“Set down the drinks.” Louis picks up a salt shaker, taps it against the bar top, and waits for Harry to comply. Louis’ fingers are delicately holding his shot glass and Harry can’t stop staring, until Louis moves the tequila over in front of his nose and makes a face. “Harry, right?”

Harry nods and lifts his shot glass in front of his own face.

Louis licks the back of his own hand and Harry gets tunnel vision. He doesn’t notice Louis sprinkling salt on his hand, isn’t really aware of anything except his heart beating out of control in his chest, until he feels warm skin touching his hand. He looks down to find Louis’ hand cradling his own. “Lick your hand, Harold.”

“Harry.” Harry manages to say before he licks the back of his own hand and holds it out for Louis to sprinkle some salt. 

Louis nods, then purses his lips. “Well, then, let’s see… to new opportunities.” He raises his glass and knocks it against Harry’s, licks the salt from his hand, and tosses back the tequila, making a face that somehow manages to be cute even as he’s cringing. When Louis pops the lime into his mouth, Harry realizes he’s still holding his glass and quickly follows suit. It burns, but it makes him forget whatever he was thinking about that had him so worked up.

Harry remembers as soon as Louis hands him his margarita and says, “Now tell me how I got you fired.”

Harry buys some time by sipping on his drink, but then he’s got to tell Louis something. He turns his head to the side so he can’t see Louis’ face, blows a breath out of his mouth, and mutters, “Your ass distracted me.” Then he squeezes his eyes shut as hard as he can, wishing he could disappear.

The laugh that Louis barks out is so loud that Harry’s eyes to shoot open and his head whips back around. Oh, wow, and Harry thought Louis was beautiful before, but with a smile wide enough to show his teeth and make his eyes crinkle and his cheeks turn pink, he’s… Magnificent? Breathtaking? Incredibly gorgeous? Harry doesn’t know. He’s a little drunk. But at least he gets to watch Louis laugh and smile. 

Louis finally stops laughing long enough to twist his body, pop his hip, and crane his neck to look over his shoulder. “I mean, it’s a great ass, but I don’t know if it’s worth your job.”

It really is a phenomenal ass and it's right there in front of him. Harry’s gaze lingers appreciatively on it and breathily responds, “Yeah.” 

“Dude.” Louis snaps his fingers in front of Harry’s face. “Are you serious?”

Harry blushes even harder at how obviously he'd been checking out Louis’ ass. “Sorry.”

“You know what? You’re fucking weird, but I like you.” Louis picks up his drink and sips through the tiny straw. “You said you’re going to have to leave town?”

Harry nods. “It took me forever to get that job and I’m not really qualified for anything else. I sold all my shit to move out here. Guess I’m moving back home to my parents’ house.”

“That’s ridiculous. Just look for another job.”

“I can’t really afford to. I’m staying in one of those motels that rents by the week. It’s too much money.” Harry slides onto a barstool and cradles his head in his hands. Now he’s not nearly drunk enough because he's sad again. “This fucking sucks. I can’t believe I got fired because I couldn’t stop staring at you.”

A warm hand lands on his shoulder and Harry leans into the pressure. “Funny because you’re not staring at me now and I’m right here.”

Harry tilts his head to the side so he can peek at Louis through the spaces between his fingers.

Louis grins and holds up Harry’s drink. “Drink this.”

“Don’t wanna. Can't make me.”

“What are you, five?”

Harry sits up and sticks out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout.

Louis rolls his eyes and says, “Okay, then. I dare you to drink this.”

And, well, Harry has to. It’s a dare, isn’t it? So he takes what's left of his margarita, sucks the rest of it through the straw, and sets the empty glass on the bar. “Done.”

Louis raises his eyebrows and signals the bartender for another round. “Okay, so I dare you to do another tequila shot and drink another drink with me.”

Harry smiles. He can’t help it. Louis is pretty and he's daring him to do something that’s pretty easy to do anyway, and he has a sneaking suspicion Louis is doing it to make Harry happy. “Okay, but only because you dared me.”

“You saying you’ll do anything I dare you to do?”

Harry shrugs one shoulder. “Probably.”

“I should’ve dared you to do your job right and you wouldn't have gotten fired.” 

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Harry doesn’t know where it’s coming from, but he’s feeling better and now he’s feeling flirty and what’s the worse that can happen? He picks up the salt shaker and catches Louis’ gaze as he licks the back of his hand in what he hopes is a sensual manner, sprinkles salt on it, licks it off, then tosses back the tequila. He tries to suck the lime sexily, but he’s pretty sure he fails when he chokes on it. He coughs and clears his throat and says, “Done.”

Louis laughs and does his second shot and pulls his new margarita towards him. “Okay, so I dare you to take your hair down out of the knot or whatever it’s in.”

“Really?” Harry asks, but before he even speaks his hand is already going to his bun to remove the hair tie that’s holding it up. “Okay.” He slips the hair tie over his wrist and runs his fingers through his hair. “Done.”

Louis looks him up and down and suddenly Harry feels a little shy. He scrunches his nose and closes his eyes. When he feels a hand touching his hair, he peeks out of one eye. Louis is tugging on a lock of Harry’s hair and smiling. “Curly. I like it. So what shall I dare you to do next?”

“Why?” Harry shivers a little when Louis’ hand grazes his shoulder. “I mean, why do you want to dare me to do stuff?”

“Dunno. But you’re not sad anymore, so… I’m going to keep doing it.”

“Okay.” 

“Alright then. Dare you to go flirt with that old lady over there.” Louis points to one of the women at the closest bank of slot machines. Harry likes her Hawaiian shirt.

“What?” Harry looks over his shoulder, then back at Louis. “How though? Like, what’s the proof that I flirted?”

Louis sucks on his teeth and squints his eyes and says, “Get her to… Hmm… Get her to play with your hair.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright.” Harry picks up his drink and takes a sip, then walks over with his drink still in his hand. He approaches her slowly, then once she sees him, he closes in and leans against the side of the slot machine, in a perfect line where Louis can see him.

She doesn’t take her eyes off the machine as she snaps, “Not interested.”

Harry’s expression makes Louis choke on his margarita and Harry has to turn away from him to avoid laughing. 

“Yeah, sorry. I’m not sure what you mean, ma'am.” He pitches his voice a little lower than usual and hopes for the best. Normally he’s charming with old ladies, but he’s not usually trying to flirt with them. This is weird all around. 

“I mean I’m not interested. You’re what?” She glances at him quickly and in that one look her can feel her taking in his entire body, head to toe, and he can tell she’s judging him. “Early twenties? Down on your luck? Think I’d pay for a couple of hours with you? You got Viagra in your pocket? No thanks.”

Harry is speechless for a moment, then stutters out, “N-No. No. I—” He chances a look over at Louis who’s watching from the bar. “I—Okay. I’m going to be honest with you. I am down on my luck, sort of. I got fired tonight. But I’m not looking to... Go home with you.” 

She looks up at him in disbelief, then goes back to her slots.

Harry continues, “There’s someone I’m interested in over there at the bar and they’ve dared me to come flirt with you. Sorry, ma’am.”

She smirks and says, “Name’s Mildred.”

“Sorry, Mildred. I’ll just—”

“What does the pretty young man at the bar think you’re going to do over here flirting with me?”

“How did you—”

“Please. I see everything.”

“Okay. Um, he dared me to flirt with you and he wanted you to touch my hair.”

Mildred looks up at him and reaches up to the back of her head to pat her silvery-blue curls. “That’s all? What’s in it for me?”

Harry chews his bottom lip and thinks for a second. “Well, I don’t really have anything. Just got fired and all. I can probably buy you a drink.”

“I don’t need a drink.” She says and lifts her full beer to show him. 

“Oh, well. Okay. Sorry again. I won’t—”

“Is he a nice boy?”

“Ma’am?”

Mildred turns her stool away from her slot machine for the first time since Harry’s been leaning against it. “Is he a nice boy?”

Harry glances across the room at Louis who’s standing by the bar watching the entire interaction with a slight look of concern on his face. “Yes, ma’am. He’s nice.”

“Alright, dear.” Mildred slowly stretches her hand up and touches Harry’s temple, tucks his hair behind his ear, then twirls the curl around her finger. “My Roberta had curly hair. I miss it.” She tugs at his curl and lets it spring back up. “Have a nice night.” And she turns back to her machine.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers with a smile and walks back to the bar with a huge grin on his face.

Harry leans his side against the bar and sets his drink down. “Done.”

Louis is clearly fighting a smile when he says, “Alright. Next?”

With a smirk and an eyeroll, Harry nods, then pulls his hair back up into a bun. “Next.”

They finish their drinks and instead of ordering another, Louis tugs Harry’s wrist until he follows him out onto the sidewalk, across the street, and down to the New York-New York. 

“What are we…”

“Not we, Harold. You.” Louis pulls out his phone and checks the time. “They’re open for another twenty minutes. Let’s go.” He reaches for Harry’s arm again and pulls him inside and toward the elevators.

They step out onto the second floor, the elevator doors close, and Harry asks, “Where’s the bar?”

“We’re not going to the bar. I’m daring you to ride the rooftop roller coaster.” 

Harry freezes. Shit. “I hate roller coasters.”

“Do you? Well, back in the elevator.” Louis turns on his heel and pushes the down arrow. “Gotta say, that was easier than I thought it would be.”

“No.” Harry says, determined to do whatever dare Louis sets for him. “I'll do it.”

Louis looks up at him, reaches with both hands and grabs Harry’s shoulders. “Good man. Let’s go.” He turns around again and walks toward the line for the roller coaster. Harry follows behind him feeling nervous and slightly sick. 

They're in line, just a few people back, when Harry’s hands start to shake. He’s incredibly nervous, but determined to do this dare. He just hopes that he doesn't get sick. Louis turns back to look at him, a bright smile on his face that falls as soon as he lays eyes on Harry.

“You’re really scared. Shit. You don’t have to do this.”

Harry shakes his head, but doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid that if he opens his mouth, he’ll agree to leave and that will be the end of this weird night with Louis.

“Alright. Well, I’ll ride with you.” Louis nods quickly, then leads Harry onto the roller coaster car. Once they’re strapped in, he reaches over and lays his hand over Harry’s and squeezes. “Okay, so, rule one is close your eyes if you want.” He looks at Harry like he’s expecting a response, so Harry nods. “Rule two is keep your head back against the seat and keep your mouth closed. Don't want you to like, bite your tongue or anything.” Harry nods again. “Rule three is you can squeeze my hand or hold my arm or do whatever you need to do. Just try to relax. Okay?”

Harry takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “Yeah. Okay.” He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw, and pushes his head back into the seat. Louis’ hand is still lying on top of Harry’s, so he flips his hand, puts his other hand on top and sandwiches Louis’ hand between his own. 

The ride jerks to a start and Harry gasps. 

Louis’ other hand lands on Harry’s upper arm and as he gently grips Harry's bicep, he lightly strokes his thumb under the sleeve of his shirt. “Breathe. Okay?”

Harry nods as the roller coaster surges forward, then turns upward to begin the two hundred foot ascent. He keeps his eyes closed and his head back, but his mouth falls open on the big drop and he screams the whole way down. Through the twists and turns and loops, Harry squeezes Louis hand between both of his. By the time the ride ends less than three minutes later, Harry is shaking and sweaty, but he’s not sick and he actually feels pretty good. The rush of adrenaline is enough to propel him out of the roller coaster car and back into the casino.

He makes a beeline for the bar, slides onto a stool and waves down the bartender. 

A few seconds later, Louis hops onto the stool next to him. “You okay?”

Harry nods and orders a caipirinha, then turns to Louis. “Do you want a drink?”

Louis nods and holds up two fingers to the bartender who returns a moment later with two caipirinhas. Louis take a sip of his drink and reaches over to pat Harry’s knee. “Hey, that was pretty brave. I didn’t know you were really afraid or I wouldn’t have asked you to do it.”

“I’m glad I did it. It wasn’t too bad.” Harry smirks. “Done.” He fishes a piece of ice out of his glass, pops it into his mouth and crunches down. “What’s next?”

Louis looks around for a clock, then realizes there aren't any. They're in a casino. He pulls out his phone to check the time. “Well, it’s after midnight, so a lot of the attractions are closed. Casinos are open, of course.” Louis stirs his drink with the little straw and hums to himself. “Okay. Flirt your way out of paying for these drinks.” 

“Why am I flirting with everyone? Mildred and now the bartender?”

“Mildred?”

“The slots lady.”

“You got her name?” Louis grins. “Did she give you her number too?” 

“No.” Harry kicks Louis’ ankle. “Fine. Okay, but you have to help me.”

“Why should I help you do your dare?”

“Not help me really. Just… he’s going to think we’re together or at least he knows we came in together. So you have to leave. Go wait for me outside. But um…” Harry bites his top lip. “Can you pretend to argue with me?”

Louis looks at him for a few seconds. Just long enough that Harry is wondering if he’s going to ignore his request, but then Louis downs the rest of his drink, slams the glass on the bar, stands up and shouts, “You know what? Fine, Harry, that’s great. Have a nice life!” Louis stalks off and hurries out of the bar, leaving Harry open mouthed and genuinely shocked. At least for a few seconds until he realizes that Louis was just doing what Harry asked him to. Figuring that he should probably play along, Harry drops his forehead onto the bar and heaves a dramatic sigh. The bartender is there in a flash. 

“Sir, are you alright?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, I guess.” Harry sighs again and stirs the ice in his glass. “Shit. No. I’m not alright. Fuck.” 

“Do you need me to call someone?” 

“No, no. Just, um. He said he was buying and then he left and…” Harry sniffs a bit then whines, “I just got fired and I don’t have any money.” He drops his head back down and sighs again. “I can’t… I… God, I can't believe this. I’m so embarrassed.” Harry’s shoulders shake from actual embarrassment and he presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. He can't believe he's doing this. 

“Sir, it’s okay, listen.” The bartender makes a tapping sound and Harry looks up. He hands Harry some of what look like business cards, but they’re free drink cards. “I’ve got extras. I’ll use two for you and here’s a few more. You come back in another time when you’re having a better night, okay?” 

Harry nods and stands up from his stool, then meekly says, “Thank you. You didn't have to do that. I really appreciate it.” He slips the free drink cards into his pocket and heads for the exit. 

Out on the strip, his heart is beating like crazy. He feels kind of shitty for doing that and he wants to find Louis to give him a hard time about the dare, but Louis is nowhere to be seen. He’s gone. Harry’s shoulders slump and he turns to walk in the direction of Planet Hollywood so he can get his bike and ride back to the motel. 

At least the night was fun for a few hours, but now he’s completely come back down from the euphoria of spending time with Louis, from the rush he felt after completing each dare, and from the thrill of the roller coaster. It’s as if the high of all of that has made the low of his reality that much more terrible in comparison. Now he feels worse than he did when he first walked out of the theater. Plus, he’s pissed. Louis fucked off and Harry feels shitty for tricking the bartender. 

Harry drags his feet a bit as he walks down the Strip past The Park. He’s standing at the light, waiting to cross Park Avenue, when someone grabs his arm. He spins around, ready to tell whoever it is to fuck off, but it’s Louis and he’s panting a bit, which is actually really hot. Harry forgets for a minute that he’s mad and feeling generally shitty.

“Sorry, man. I was on my way outside, but then I had to piss. You must have gotten past me while I was in the bathroom.” Louis places one hand over his heart and Harry watches it rise and fall with Louis’ breathing. “Came outside and just happened to look this way and saw your bun.” Louis reaches up and pokes at Harry’s hair and smiles.

Harry bites his bottom lip and closes his eyes. He shouldn’t feel so relieved, but he can’t help it. Even after being fired, with the knowledge that he’ll have to move back home and admit defeat, and tell everyone who said it was stupid to drop everything and move to Vegas that they were right and he couldn’t do it, he’s having the best time with Louis. 

It's absurd that some guy he just met, who keeps daring Harry to do silly things that he’d probably never do for anyone else, is making Harry happier than he’s been in a while… It’s a lot to process. He sighs and opens his eyes. “I thought you’d left me.”

“No way, man. As long as you keep doing everything I dare you to do, I’m hanging out with you. I’m off tomorrow. I don’t have anything else to do.” Louis reaches up, grabs Harry’s shoulders, spins him around and pushes him towards to crosswalk. “What’s next?”

“I don’t know. Kind of want a drink. Something different though.”

“You going to flirt your way into another free drink?”

Harry stops just before stepping into the road and turns out of the way so people can move past him. Louis follows him until they’re standing over by the corner of The Park. “That was awful and I'm never doing it again. Done, though.” Harry pulls the free drink cards out of his back pocket and shows them to Louis. “And he gave me these. They’re good for any of the MGM places.” 

“You’re telling me that not only did you get our drinks for free, the guy gave you…” Louis snatches the cards out of Harry’s hand and looks them over, then hands them back. “Four free drink passes?”

Harry nods. He’s pleased with himself now that he’s impressed Louis.

“Right. Well, the MGM Grand is right there.” Louis jerks his head toward the giant lion across the street. “Let’s go have a drink and I’ll try to think of something to dare you to do next.” He grabs Harry by the elbow and leads him across the street and into the MGM Grand, through the casino, to the closest bar. 

When the bartender approaches and asks what they’d like to drink, Louis looks to Harry and says, “I think we want something sweet, but do you have anything that’ll help keep us awake?”

The bartender smiles and offers to make them chocolate espresso martinis and when Harry’s response is, “Yum!” Louis nods and says he’ll have one too.

The drinks arrive in tall martini glasses with giant crystals of sugar stuck in chocolate sauce decorating the rim. The bartender explains that the drinks are made with a shot of espresso, Godiva chocolate liqueur, and vanilla vodka. They taste way too good and before Louis has even mentioned Harry’s next dare, they’ve each had two of the martinis, Harry’s handed over his free drink cards, and they’re on their way back onto the Strip, much more intoxicated than they were an hour before. Except now they’ve each had two shots of espresso.

On the way past the Hard Rock Cafe, they pass a busker with a guitar and Harry starts to quietly sing along with the Paul Simon song he’s playing. 

Louis stops in the middle of the sidewalk and grabs Harry’s arm. “I dare you to busk.”

“What?”

“I dare you to busk. I dare you to stand…” Louis looks around for a few seconds, then points over to the empty corner beside the Sunglass Hut and continues, “Over there. Stand there and sing a song.”

Harry’s face starts to heat at the mere idea of singing in front of a crowd, he’s always been more of the type to hide in the background, but he squares his shoulders, lifts his chin, and agrees as they walk over to the corner.

“Hold on a second.” Louis jogs down the alley beside the Sunglass Hut. Harry watches him go, and wracks his brain for a song to sing. When Louis returns, it’s with a small cardboard box. He sets it down by the corner of the building, then walks over leans against a tree on the edge of the sidewalk, crosses his arms, and scratches the back of his calf with the toe of his shoe. 

“Thanks.” Harry grins and shakes his head. This should be embarrassing. Not only does he have to sing, but Louis has made it official with the box. Hopefully, someone will toss a few coins in. If he can figure out a song. “What do I sing?”

“Something… Beyoncé.”

After a deep breath, Harry nods and takes his place on the corner. He runs through the list of Beyoncé songs that he knows all the lyrics to and, unsurprisingly, the list is long. He taps his foot against the sidewalk and his alcohol and espresso fueled brain makes the brilliant decision to go with the only Beyoncé song he knows both the lyrics _and_ the dance moves to.

He starts off by clapping and swinging his hips, but he keeps his eyes on Louis. When he sees the realization dawn on Louis’ face, he puts on hand on his hip and starts to sing, “All the single ladies, all the single ladies, now put your hands up,” while doing the choreography. He laughs his way through it, pulling his hair free from it’s bun so that he can flip it around, singing and dancing while Louis stands across from him, clutching his stomach and smiling so big that when Harry sees it, he almost forgets the words.

When he’s about halfway through the song, Louis crosses over to him and joins in. He's somehow managed to forget that Louis is a professional dancer, so when he steps in seamlessly and follows Harry’s lead, Harry blushes harder than ever before. He misses a few steps, but he keeps singing and dancing. 

The only other time he falters is when they spin around so that he’s dancing behind Louis. They both bend forward and Louis’ bum is right there in front of Harry’s face and he almost falls over when Louis starts spanking his own ass. But he recovers quickly enough that Louis doesn’t see him mess up, and they finish the song together, collapsing against each other, breathless and giggling. 

When Harry is finally able to stand up straight and breathe after a minute or two, he sees that there are actually a few dollars in the box at their feet. They stuff the money in their pockets, and lean back against the wall. 

“Done.” Harry laughs again and claps his hands. “What’s next?”

“Don’t know if you can top that one. Can’t believe you know that whole dance.” Louis bumps their shoulders together, then pulls his phone out to check the time. “It’s one-thirty already. Wow.”

“Oh, do you need to go?” Harry can’t keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Louis shakes his head. “Nope. I’m here until we both pass out or one of us gets arrested.” He laughs and reaches up to pull on one of Harry’s loose curls. “I haven’t had this much fun in a while. I’m kind of glad you got fired.”

With that one word, all of Harry’s problems come rushing back and he can feel it as the sadness clouds his face. “I… I don’t want to leave.”

“Sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Louis turns and leans his shoulder against the brick wall, then looks up at Harry’s face. “I just meant, if you hadn’t gotten fired, we wouldn’t be hanging out right now. That’s all.” Louis looks down and kicks Harry’s boot with the toe of his shoe. “You shouldn’t have to leave. I… alright, listen to this. I have a sofa—”

“Nice.”

“Shut up. I’m not finished. I have a sofa and a roommate. But my roommate’s moving to New York at the end of the month and I’ve been looking for someone to rent his room. Why don’t you come stay on my sofa until then. If you find a job, you can be my roommate. If you don’t, then you can go home.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, why not?”

Harry searches Louis’ face for any sign that he might be joking around, but he looks completely serious, so Harry nods and whispers, “Okay.”

“Okay, then.” Louis shoves him in the shoulder. “What’s next? Hmm?”

“How much money did we make? I need a drink.” Harry really doesn’t need a drink. At this point he’s quite drunk already, but it seems like the thing to do, so they pull out the money they collected and count it. Somehow they have more than twenty dollars, which Harry thinks Louis must have sneakily added some of his own money to, so they head for the nearest bar.

Someone in the bar is getting married. Harry and Louis can’t figure out who it is, there’s no one wearing one of those funny hats or shirts, no one wearing a wedding dress, but whoever it is keeps buying drinks for everyone who happens to have a seat at the bar and Louis and Harry just happen to have seats at the bar. The only stipulations are that they have to drink what’s offered, and they have to finish one drink to get the next one. By the time Louis and Harry stumble back out onto the street, it’s three o’clock in the morning, they’re both ridiculously wasted, and walking with their arms around each other because Louis says, “If I fall down, I’m taking you down with me.”

“You’re really lovely, Lou. Lovely Lou. Lou.” Harry grins wide, showing all of his teeth, then starts cackling. “I love Lou. I mean, I love you.”

Louis turns his head and squints at Harry, then stops walking. “Stop. Hold still. I can’t see you.”

“I am still.”

“Okay. Hold me still.” Louis reaches up and grabs Harry’s shoulders, so Harry rests his hands on Louis’ hips.

Harry whispers, “Are we still?”

“I think so. Okay.” Louis closes one eye and leans back, so Harry grips his hips tightly to prevent him from falling. “Now, what did you say?”

“Dunno. What did I say?” Harry can’t remember. He wracks his brain, but there’s a lot of booze up there. Not a lot of room for thoughts. “Wait. I said I love Lou. I do! I love you, Lou. You’re letting me sleep on your couch.”

“Aww, that’s nice. I love Lou, too, Harry.”

Harry snorts and drops his head to Louis’ shoulder. “You said you love you.”

“No. I said I love you.”

Harry mumbles against Louis’ shoulder, “We should make out.” Louis’ shoulders shake with laughter and when Harry picks his head up, he pouts. “I’m serious. I want to kiss you. That should be my next dare. Dare me to kiss you. Come on.”

Instead, Louis ignores him and looks over his shoulder. Harry follows his gaze. They’re right back where they started. Standing in front of Planet Hollywood. “Where’s your bike?”

“Back there. It’s locked up in the back.” Harry points to the alley behind the building. “Are you changing the subject?”

“No. What was the subject?” Louis scrunches up his face and he looks adorable, so Harry just kisses him. It’s messy and slightly painful because their heads bang together and Louis’ tooth bumps Harry’s lip hard enough that it draws blood, but it’s wonderful. His mouth tastes like the last drink they had, which was something green and melon flavored, so Harry presses forward, sliding his hands around Louis’ hips to his lower back, pulling him close. Louis responds immediately, opening his mouth and letting Harry have his way. He whimpers and Harry groans and nips at Louis’ lower lip. 

Harry mumbles into Louis’ mouth, “Done.”

“What?” Louis pulls back, clearly confused.

“You dared me to kiss you,” Harry says confidently. “Done.”

“No, you dared you to kiss me. I think.”

Harry rolls his eyes and laughs. “Then dare me to kiss you now.”

Louis looks at him and Harry leans in, watching his face, his wet lips, flushed cheeks, and shining eyes. But he waits until Louis whispers, “I dare you.” 

It’s a wonder they don’t fall over in the middle of the sidewalk. Or get arrested for public indecency. Because in just a few minutes, Harry has Louis pressed up against the nearest building, sucking messily on his neck, while one of Louis’ hand roams around underneath the back of Harry’s t-shirt and the other tangles in his hair. They only stop because Harry bumps his forehead against the brick wall and it hurts.

They stand there, breathing hard and staring at each other for a minute while Harry rubs the spot on his head where it hit the wall. 

Louis giggles and says, “All that kissing and you didn’t even touch my bum.”

“Is that a dare?”

“Yeah, why not?” 

Harry looks around. They’re still standing on the sidewalk, but they’re right next to the alley where his bike is parked. “Come on. Let’s get my bike.” Harry grabs Louis’ hand and starts leading him down the alley.

“Why? I don’t think you should ride it now. We should…” Louis stops and jerks Harry’s hand back. “Touch my ass. Come on. I dared you.” Louis turns around, trips over his own foot, and almost falls down, but Harry still has a hold of his hand and manages to stop him before he hits the ground.

Harry hauls off and smacks his ass. Hard. And Louis yelps, “Harry!”

“Done.” Harry knows he’s wearing his smug smile, but he can’t help it. He’s having fun. Louis kissed him and asked him to touch his ass. It’s the best night of his life.

“Fine.” Louis scowls at him and rubs his hand over his asscheek. “What’s next?”

Harry looks down the alley. Louis is right, he should just leave his bike where it is. It’s not safe to ride it now. Hopefully it’ll still be locked up when he comes back for it. He looks back towards the Strip and shrugs. Then he grabs Louis’ hand and pulls him along until they’re standing there, right off the sidewalk in the mouth of the alley, watching people walk by.

“Ooh! Look at that lady.” Harry practically screams as he points to a woman on the other side of the street wearing what has got to be the biggest, whitest, frilliest wedding gown Harry has ever seen. It’s incredible. Like she’s wearing a wedding cake. He spins around, wide eyed and excited and shouts, “Let’s get married. That’s next. Dare me to marry you.”

Louis throws his head back and howls with laughter. And when he finishes, Harry is still standing there, staring at him expectantly. 

“Dare me,” Harry orders.

“No.”

“Fine. I dare you to marry me then.”

Louis laughs. “Nope.”

Harry cannot believe that Louis won’t marry him. This is Las Vegas. The land of bad decisions. Plus, it was a dare. So Harry pouts. He crosses his arms and sticks his bottom lip out and stomps his foot. 

Louis shoves Harry’s shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.” He looks past Harry at something behind him, so Harry turns around. A street performer. There’s a man in black and white striped pants, a bright blue coat with tails, and a lime green top hat, juggling flaming batons. They watch him for a moment and Louis laughs quietly. “Okay, Harry. If you go ask that man to let you juggle his fire thingys and he’ll let you, I’ll dare you to marry me. But you have to actually juggle them. No cheating. No tossing one baton up in the air. Has to be at least three. And they have to be on fire.” Louis starts laughing again before he finishes talking. It’s obvious that he’s making a joke, that he doesn’t think Harry will try it. 

Little does Louis know that Harry’s been juggling since he taught himself at age nine. It’s been a few years since he’s tried to juggle anything dangerous, and he is quite drunk, but he’s determined. He turns to look at Louis’ laughing face and says, “Stay here.” Then, before Louis can stop him, he jogs off across the street, straight over to the juggler.

“Hey, man.” Harry stops in front of the juggler who’s still tossing flaming batons in the air. “Can I ask you a favor?”

“Depends.” The man says, never stopping the spinning batons.

“I can juggle. Been doing it almost fifteen years. But that guy over there doesn’t believe me.”

“Yeah, so? Everyone says they can juggle.”

“I can though. Do you have any balls or anything?”

The man catches his batons and puts out the flames. “Nope. Just the batons. You want a go? Here.” He holds the batons out, but Harry shakes his head. 

“Can you…” He looks back to see Louis watching him. “Can we step around the corner so he can’t see? Like, if I show you I can do it, will you let me do it with fire?”

The man looks at him appraisingly. “Alright. Name’s Jack the Juggler, by the way.” He walks off down the sidewalk and Harry trails after him.

“Thanks, Jack. I’m Harry.” Harry twists his hair up into a bun again, then takes the batons and tosses them in the air one at a time. It’s been a few months since he’s juggled anything, but it’s like riding a bike. It only takes a minute before he’s doing tricks, catching them behind his back, and tossing them higher and higher.

Jack gives him an appreciative round of applause. “You’re quite good. I wasn't expecting that. How much have you had to drink?”

Harry tosses the batons up high, then catches them one at a time and answers, “A lot. Too much probably. But I’ve always been a better juggler when I’m out of my head a bit.”

“Have you ever juggled fire before?”

Harry nods. “Yeah. A few times. Scared the shit out of my mom the first time.” He laughs. “Are you going to let me?”

Jack nods. “Don’t set yourself on fire. Where’s this person who doesn’t think you can juggle?”

Harry walks back toward the strip, points across the street at Louis, who is still standing there, looking completely baffled.

“Alright. Let’s show him what you can do.” Jack leads the way back across the Strip and over to stand in front of Louis. “Young man, I hear you don’t believe Harry here can juggle.”

“I don’t.” Louis laughs. “I can’t believe he’s convinced you to let him try.” 

Harry smirks at Louis and says, “Dare me. Say what you said before.”

“Fine. Harry, if you can juggle three of those fire thingys—”

“Batons,” Jack interrupts.

“Batons. If you juggle three of the flaming batons, I will dare you to marry me.”

“Let’s fucking go. Light ’em up.” Harry holds the batons out and Jack lights them, then takes a step back.

Louis’ face immediately goes from humorous disbelief to open-mouth shock. His eyes are incredibly wide as he stares at the fire and he stutters, “H-Harry. Don’t—”

But it’s too late for warnings. Harry is already tossing the flaming batons in the air. Successfully juggling them, smiling and looking up at them as they spin in the air. Jack is clapping for him and people are stopping to watch. Harry can't see Louis because he’s concentrating on not setting himself on fire, but he hears his gasps and each one makes Harry’s heart beat harder. 

Harry yells above the noise of the people who’ve started crowding around, “Dare me.”

No one says anything, but then after a few seconds, Louis shouts, “I dare you to marry me!”

One by one, Harry catches the flaming batons and blows them out. He passes them over to Jack, who’s standing there holding his belly and laughing. Jack tucks the batons under his arms and bellows, “My newest assistant, ladies and gentlemen.” He nudges Harry and bows, so Harry bows with him. Once the crowd starts to wander off, Jack turns to Harry and offers, “I need a juggler on the other end of the Strip, if you’re interested.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you’re pretty good. It’s only a couple nights a week, just to fill in for my other guy. But here.” He pulls a business card out of thin air and passes it to Harry. “Call me when you’re sober.” He laughs and walks away, tossing his batons into the air.

The card is black and white striped with blue and green lettering. Jack the Juggler is written across the top, with his phone number and website underneath. Harry can't believe it. He turns to face Louis who’s leaning against the building. “He offered me a job.”

“Did he really?” Louis pushes off the building and walks over to look at the card. “You should do it. It’ll be fun, right?”

“Yeah. What a weird night.” Harry shakes his head. The alcohol is starting to burn off from the adrenaline, but he’s still pretty drunk. It feels like there’s something he’s forgetting.

“Hey, so I was thinking.” Louis slips his arm around Harry’s waist and guides him down the sidewalk. “Do you think my ass is as distracting now as it was earlier this evening?”

“No.” Harry answers truthfully. “I think your whole… self is distracting. But I like it.”

“What if I talk to Mr. Smith and Amanda about giving you another chance?”

Harry stops and looks over at Louis. He taps Jack’s business card against his hand. “Do you think they would?”

Louis shrugs. “Maybe. They like me. Worth a shot, right? Then you’d have two jobs.”

“You don’t have to do that, you know. I mean, I appreciate the offer, but it’s not necessary.”

“Of course it’s necessary. I can’t have you getting fired. Doesn’t look good on your resume.” Louis pulls him forward until they’re walking side by side again. “Besides, if you’re going to be my husband—”

Harry gasps and claps his hands over his mouth. “I forgot.”

“That’s shitty. I dared you to marry me and you forgot? Are you backing out?”

“No. Let’s do it.” Harry’s heart is rattling around in his chest as Louis pulls him down the sidewalk. They’re practically running now, Louis in front, dragging Harry along behind him, and they keep going until Louis darts towards the road, raises his arm high in the air, and starts waving his hand. Harry is momentarily stunned. Apparently Louis’ armpits are almost as distracting as his ass. Maybe it’s the booze and maybe it's the fact that it’s almost four in the morning, but Harry finds himself wanting to nuzzle his face into the dip of Louis armpit. He wants to kiss and lick him there and desire hits Harry like a wrecking ball. 

He cackles as he imagines swinging on a wrecking ball like Miley Cyrus and practically leaps at Louis, who is actually doing something other than flashing what should now officially be a private body part at the entire street. He’s flagging down a cab. Harry wraps himself around Louis’ waist, tucks his face under Louis’ arm and kisses the skin between his nipple and armpit. 

Louis reacts by jumping sideways and bringing his elbow down hard on Harry’s head. “Shit, man. What the fuck are you doing?” Louis laughs and cradles Harry’s head in his hands. “Are you okay?”

“I wanted to kiss your armpit.” Harry whines and reaches up to rub his temple. 

Louis snorts and pushes him into the taxi, then climbs in after him. A few minutes later, Louis pays the driver and they’re clambering out of the taxi and running up the sidewalk to the front door. Louis pulls it open and Harry runs inside, then he freezes, spins around and laughs, “No running in the chapel.” He slaps his knee and cackles louder.

“Is that a _Friends_ reference?”

“Of course.” Harry smiles and grabs Louis’ hand, then pulls him over to the help desk, where they find out that they’ll have to get a marriage license in the morning to make it official. The good news is that they can go ahead and have the wedding ceremony without the license. 

Thirty minutes later, they’re getting married under a canopy of fake flowers by a man who looks suspiciously like an out-of-costume Elvis impersonator. There are no rings and they don’t have any vows planned, so Louis asks to borrow a pen and, when Elvis hands him a Sharpie, he uses it to draw a band around Harry’s finger.

Louis clips the marker to the neck of Harry’s shirt, takes both of Harry’s hands in his and clears his throat. “This is literally the last thing I thought I’d be doing tonight, but honestly, living in Vegas, I should know better. Anything can happen. Harry…” Louis pauses and wrinkles his brow. “What’s your last name?”

“Styles.” Harry laughs and squeezes Louis’ hands. “What’s yours?”

“Tomlinson.” Louis sticks his tongue out at Harry and swings their hands back and forth. “Okay. Um, I promise to marry you and to try to get you your job back. And… I promise to not let you juggle fire in the house. I mean, you need to promise that later. Alright?” Louis raises his eyebrows and Harry nods. “I promise to drive you to work with me if you get your job back so you don’t have to ride your bike. Let’s see… what else? I promise that you don’t have to sleep on the couch. Unless you want to. And I promise to be a good husband.” Louis grins and says, “Now you go.”

Harry pulls the marker from his shirt collar and carefully draws a ring on Louis’ finger, complete with a diamond and little lines to make it look like it’s sparkling. He hands the Sharpie back to Elvis and takes Louis’ hands, kissing the knuckles of each one. “Louis Tomlinson, I can’t believe you dared me to marry you. I hope you don’t regret it tomorrow. This is so weird. Um, I promise not to juggle fire in the house.” Harry winks. “And I promise to try not to get distracted by your bum. Oh! Can I promise to kiss your armpits?”

Louis nods and rolls his eyes.

Harry scrunches his nose and continues, “My mom is going to kick my ass. I promise to kiss you all the time. I promise to give you piggyback rides whenever you want. And juggle stuff for you. I promise to make you pancakes tomorrow whenever we wake up. And I promise to be a good husband.” 

Harry looks to Elvis and asks, “Are we done?”

Elvis’ face is quite serious when he answers, “I now pronounce you married by the state of Nevada as soon as you get your license. You may kiss—.”

Before Elvis can finish, Harry lurches forward and wraps his arms around Louis’ waist, immediately sliding his hands down and squeezing his ass, lifting him up and wrapping Louis’ legs around his waist. They’re about thirty seconds into their first kiss as husbands when Harry pulls back, eyes wide, and shouts, “Done!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you like the fic, please comment, leave kudos ❤, and reblog this [Tumblr](http://fullonlarrie.tumblr.com/post/160273141120/stranded-in-a-dreamby-fullonlarrie-chapters-11) post! 
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> Thanks for reading!


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